I stood just outside the white semicircle drawn on the floor and looked at Priscus. Ever since Martin had opened and read out the Abbot’s letter — and fallen into a heap of sobbing misery after a second re-reading of it — I’d been going through possible openings to this conversation. Priscus had committed people to worse than this and for less. Our first ever meeting had involved my arrest, followed by promises of torture. Now the tables had been irreversibly turned, I could have opened with any number of self-righteous lectures. Instead, I looked at the bald and shrunken scarecrow huddled in his own filth. ‘Hello, Priscus,’ I said softly, ‘I’m given to understand that your head is filled with all manner of insane fancies and that you barely survived a suicide attempt.’ I stepped forward across the line. The look he gave didn’t indicate he’d get up and kiss the hem of my robe. I wondered if he’d spit in my face. ‘I’m surprised to see you alive at all,’ I added — ‘let alone so comparatively well.’
He swung himself stiffly into a seated position. ‘I knew you’d come,’ he sneered in Latin. He kicked the stained quilt on to the floor and stretched his legs. ‘No cups, I’m afraid. But there’s a jug on that table. The horse from which its contents were collected seems to have been drunk at the time.’ He let out a cold laugh. I waited for the coughing fit. Nothing. If he’d put on no new flesh, three seasons of enforced holiness in the damp seemed to have arrested a decline I’d been sure would carry him off in months. He stood up and waved his left arm. The chain that connected his manacled wrist to an iron bracket on the wall rattled. ‘It means stepping well within range of wicked old Priscus,’ he said with one of his nasty grins. ‘But, unless you’ve brought your own refreshments, that’s a risk you’ll have to take.’
I took up the jug and carried it over to where Priscus had sat again. He laughed bitterly and raised the jug to his lips. Then he caught sight of the icon of Saint George on the far wall. He put on a look of patient humility and handed the jug to me. ‘Do sit beside me, My Lord Alaric,’ he said with another of his grins. ‘I do have fleas. But I’m sure you were used to those in Britain, or wherever it was you were born and dragged up.’
I sat down on the ledge and nerved myself for a mouthful of the thin yellow liquid. I felt something behind me, and twisted round to see a familiar wooden box. ‘It may have soothed your conscience to keep me in powders and potions,’ he said. ‘But I’m not inclined to blame you for that.’ He took the jug from me and drank. He smacked his lips and reached for his box. ‘Won’t you join me in a pinch of blue powder? It goes well with the wine. If I take the first pinch, you can be sure the second won’t poison you.’ I knew Priscus well enough to be sure of no such thing — if he wanted, he could poison a man by kissing him. But I didn’t suppose he’d brought me here to kill me.
‘I gave instructions for you to be treated well,’ I opened in a voice that I couldn’t force into the tone I wanted. ‘Why did you try to kill the monk Nicetas sent to see you?’
Priscus wrinkled his nose. ‘Would you believe me if I said I bit his finger off because he spoke disrespectfully of you?’ I’d spoken in Greek. He stayed in Latin and nodded slightly towards the door. I took a small pinch of the stimulant he was offering me. I put it on my tongue and washed it down with another mouthful of wine. I had specified comfort for him. No doubt, that’s what he’d been given till he upset Nicetas.
‘The man offended me,’ he went on. ‘He was here to explain how, in your absence, the new Commander of the East was about to become a second Alexander. I was more interested in where you’d been and for so long that you’d lost the advantage you got from fucking me and the eunuch over. Of course, fathead Heraclius tells everything to his cousin and he’d told enough to his confessor for me to get the drift of things. I’ll be surprised if the story isn’t all over the City.’
He took another drink. He smiled. ‘When I was first brought here, I could hardly believe you’d done what you did. You were Alaric, the silly young barbarian. Then astonishment ripened into hate and I went three times a day into the chapel to implore God for your destruction. But, if I won’t say I’m a reformed character, I’ve had time enough in this place to reflect on things. Whoever it was Ludinus sent to whisper in your ear only told you the truth.’ He laughed nastily. ‘I won’t lie to you — not at this stage in proceedings. I really thought it was all settled for you to be sent here, not me. And I was planning to have you blinded as well as locked away.’ He sighed. ‘But I’ll bet you’ve forgiven me. So long as you come out on top, you’re not the sort who bears grudges. About the only thing that makes you endurable is your lack of belief in God.’
I said nothing. A flea had hopped on to the white silk of my outer tunic. I took it between forefinger and thumb and popped it with my nails. I wiped the blood on a napkin. Priscus sighed again. Beneath his sneery façade, he seemed almost as embarrassed as I was. ‘But, you might tell your dear old friend Priscus the details,’ he took up again with forced jollity. ‘I get bugger all excitement in this place.’
I stood up and lifted a corner of the curtain. The giant walls of Constantinople were about a half mile to the east. Between there and this place lay the ruins of one of the suburbs that, in better days, had spread far beyond the walls. Barely any light had come into the room. But Priscus was squeezed against the wall, hands pressed over his eyes. I let the curtain drop. I went to where I’d put the lamp and moved it closer to the bench. Despite the heavy clothes I had on, I could feel a damp chill soaking through. I was sure I could hear the squeaking of a rat. I sat down again beside Priscus. ‘I’m waiting, Alaric,’ he jeered. ‘I’ve heard something dismissive of what you did in Persia. I’d like to know exactly what happened.’
He sprawled on a pillow black with grease from his scalp and listened as I felt my way into a story that I hadn’t come here to tell, and that still managed in places to bring a scared lump into my throat. A few times, he stopped me to ask a question about persons or places. But he listened mostly in silence as I spoke until the faint glow of light on our side of the curtain had faded and we were in darkness but for the wavering gleam of the lamp.
When I’d finished my account of my last days in Persian territory — speaking a different language and giving a different story to every picket that stopped me — he got up and walked to the farthest length his chain allowed. He turned and made a bow that I thought for a moment was ironic. Then he was back beside me and reaching for his box of drugs. He watched me take a small pinch of his orange powder and waited for its effect to begin. He put his face close to mine. For the first time since we’d met, his breath smelled only of rotting teeth. ‘You know, dear boy, I decided to kill you after your first proposal of a law to dispossess my class of its land. I went out with Heraclius when he needed a piss during the banquet after that Council meeting. I just happened to be carrying the right poison in a flask about my neck. I found myself alone with all the boots and I could tell yours from their size. Five drops in each and you’d have fallen dead some time the following day. Everyone would have agreed it was a heart attack. Instead, I stood looking at those boots till Heraclius had put his catheter away. I never had such an easy chance again.’
He stopped and gathered his thoughts again. ‘Listen, Alaric,’ he whispered, ‘if Heraclius will never understand the brains and courage required to keep the Home Provinces safe, I do. Give Uncle Priscus your hand. He’d like to touch a man who at last has become his equal.’
I could have laughed at him. Perhaps I should have got up and crossed to the other side of the white line. I could have called an order to the monk praying in a scared voice outside the door. I could have walked out. I could have hurried through the ruined suburbs. If the Military Gate was already locked and barred, I could have ordered it reopened. I could have let my eyes glaze over every time I found myself looking at the Fortified Monastery.